


Negotiation

by mimesere



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl (2003)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 18:12:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2035002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mimesere/pseuds/mimesere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack only negotiates with pirates.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Negotiation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AndreaLyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndreaLyn/gifts).



> Everything i write for this fandom is apparently canon divergent after Curse of the Black Pearl. For obvious reasons.

The storm season drove them all back to Tortuga, until sailors were spilling out of the light and warmth of the taverns back into the rain, pouring fit to drown the earth. Jack prided himself on knowing the crews that shipped out of Tortuga, and more, he prided himself on knowing their ships. He'd served on many of them before finding, losing, and finding his Pearl and it served him well enough to know what those ships could do when they'd a captain clever enough to pull every bit of wind into their sails. None so clever as he, of course, but clever enough to evade the Spanish and French fleets.

No one gave a damn about evading the Spanish and French. That was easy. That was nothing to boast of.

Ah, but the English fleet out of Port Royal. Those were the stories a man could tell and expect a drink for -- stories of slipping through the fingers of His Britannic Majesty's Navy and its uncanny commodore. 

Jack tapped his fingers against the table, listening to Gibbs trading stories with some sailor off the Cygnet. There'd been a new ship in the bay, with three snarling dogs' heads glaring at him as they pulled alongside. No name picked out neatly at the stern, but the carving told its own story. Cerberus, guard dog to Hell itself. And no one knew who crewed her or what captain she sailed under, though the neat rigging and gleaming decks told a story as much as the dogs did.

"He knows where we be," the Cygnet was saying, voice hushed like he was afraid to be heard, "like the Devil's whispering all our secrets in his ear." A low murmur of agreement followed his words, since hadn't they all been caught out once or twice with the white sails and blue flag of the Interceptor rising over the horizon? 

She'd been a lovely boat, almost as lovely as his Pearl and he guessed that her sinking as much as anything had earned him the noose around his neck. It must've driven the commodore mad to watch his prey slip past him, fast before the wind in a way his lumbering Dauntless could never be.

"Doesn't show himself here, does he? Himself won't take us all on."

A chorus of cheers followed and someone, young and flush with swag bought them all drinks. "To to Royal Navy," shouted one man, "may the vomito negro take 'em all!"

Another chorus of cheers and drinks. Most drank. Jack noted those that did not. His own crew wouldn't drink to a curse, having seen the evils that could follow, but his weren't the only to hold back. There were a few others scattered about the tables, grim faced and strangers to Jack. A few of them cast glances over toward one corner before falling into line with the people around them. 

The new crew, he thought. No one who'd sailed the Caribbean before, or Jack'd be damned. Which meant their captain was either a fool or something much more interesting. The brand on his arm itched and he scratched it idly. Curiousity would kill him one day, if the pox did not and the Navy before it. 

He wound his way through the crowd, clapping a few backs and twirling a few maids, until he reached the bar and motioned for two drinks. He grabbed the tankards and shoved off, heading for the corner and its table, tucked safely away from the crowd. It was dim there, but not so dim to blind him and there was not a hint of blue to be found on or near the man's coat. It was almost enough to make him think again, because the image of Himself in anything less than full regalia was something even Jack had a time wrapping his head around.

But there he is in black and red, with a pistol pointed very steadily at Jack's chest.

"Now, Commodore, you wouldn't go shooting a man who bought you a drink, would you?" said Jack, holding the tankard up. 

"I would make an exception for you, Mr. Sparrow," said Norrington, though he made a show of tucking the pistol away. 

Jack took the chair opposite and leaned in close, setting the drink in front of Norrington without spilling a drop. "Best rum to be had in all the West Indies."

Norrington frowned at it. "It's not the rum that worries me," he said. "Was it my men?"

"The ship," said Jack. 

"Mmm," said Norrington, drinking his rum and making a face. "The decks, I suppose."

"And the rigging. Too neat by half."

"I'll remember that," said Norrington. He looked thoughtful, rolling the tankard idly between his palms, and not nearly as out of place as he should. "We should discuss this elsewhere, I think." He stood and picked up the cutlass Jack hadn't seen, walking away without a backward glance. Jack whistled low and waited for the cries of recognition, the howls of bloody outrage, and the crash of an overturned table.

Nothing. 

Norrington turned and quirked an eyebrow at him, waiting. Jack could see the commodore even through the cunning disguise of a new coat and no wig; it was obvious in the way he stood and the arrogant bastardy tilt of the head as he looked at Jack. But no one gave him a second glance until Jack followed him up the stairs, noting as he did that several of the mysterious sailors half-stood as he and the commodore passed, dropping back into their seats after a bare glance.

Norrington led him past a few doors and opened one, not any different from the rest. It was a room bare save for the cot and washstand. And a window overlooking the harbor. Jack took it all in at a glance, turning around slowly to see the room in all its spartan glory before taking a seat on the cot itself. "How is it that you can walk into a tavern full of people who curse you daily and not be recognized?"

"The wig," said Norrington dryly. He stood with his back to the only door out of the room, watching Jack carefully. Clever man. "And I find that the most effective disguise is simply being where I'm not expected."

"None so blind," murmured Jack. 

"Just so," said Norrington. "What am I to do with you, Mr. Sparrow?"

"Ah!" said Jack, holding up one hand. "You know better now, Commodore."

Norrington's smile was tight. "James," he said and Jack wondered if it hurt to give up that small intimacy. "Please." Apparently it did.

"I could shout it from the window here. You and yours'd never make it out of the bay."

"I could shoot you," said Norrington. "It might almost be worth it."

"I had thought we were past this distressing tendency of yours to want me dead." Jack settled himself comfortably. It looked to be a most interesting night. "I haven't seen you in ages."

"Astounding as it may be to you, Mr. Sparrow, there are things that are more important than you are."

"You're doing that on purpose," accused Jack. Norrington just looked resigned. 

"Jack--"

"Not 'til I've heard it you say it," said Jack.

Norrington's jaw firmed and for a moment, Jack thought they might both die of old age before the words captain and sparrow crossed Norrington's lips together. But eventually, Norrington managed a thin smile -- dry, humorless thing as it was, but Jack appreciated the effort -- and said, "Captain Sparrow--"

"There now, that wasn't so hard was it?" Jack leaned back, feeling incredibly pleased with life in general and himself in particular, because though he had heard tell from most everyone -- if, of course, one counted everyone to mean the charming and terribly young Will and his charming and terrifying Elizabeth, both in their cups and spilling out their heart's woes with their rum to Jack's everlasting annoyance, for both the waste of rum and the sharing of woe were of no earthly or Heavenly or infernal use to Jack -- that Norrington's recent displays of temper were quite out of the ordinary. As Jack's experience of the man had included nothing but displays of temper, both good and ill, and rather more displays of a distressing skill for anticipating Jack's every bloody move, and since Jack had little cause to esteem either Turner's supply of good sense and judgment, Jack was inclined to think them wrong. 

It was fortunate for them, really, that their opinion of the man was tempered with an admission that he -- Captain Jack Sparrow -- had a knack for setting a light to that particular bit of fuse. He beamed at James -- a good, solid name, that. He'd known a Jim once. A Jim the Noose and a Green Jimmy and they were fine men all, but James was a rarity in his acquaintance, name and man both. "So, James--" A flinch and a dark look. Wonderful. Jack's grin grew wider. "Have you given thought to this little predicament of yours?"

"It's yours as well, Sparrow," said James.

Jack shook his head and the charms in his hair rattled and chimed against each other. "Ah, now, I'm not the one in Tortuga sailing under Dutch colors." Of course, James was hardly the _only_ person in Tortuga sailing under false colors, but it was the principle of the thing that mattered--

"Mine is hardly the only ship in that bay being less than truthful," said James. "And you are the only person here who can name me."

"Ah," said Jack.

"You see your problem," said James.

"Yes," Jack said thoughtfully. "But your problem is a bit larger than mine. I've only you between me and that door, and that door is all that lies between you and several hundred men who'd be quite happy to see you hang. And I am in possession of this very fine pistol." Jack held up the pistol in question, waving it around in a lazy circle. 

"I take your point," said James

"I thought you might," said Jack.

James rocked back on his heels a moment. "You seem to forget that I also have a pistol of my own."

"That you do," agreed Jack. "It seems we're at a bit of an impasse. What say I put away my pistol, and you put away yours, and we discuss this like the men of reason and sound mind that I know we both are?"

"I don't negotiate with pirates," said James. But he made no move toward the gun still tucked away neatly at his waist. 

Jack looked around the empty room and leaned forward conspiratorially. "The only people I see in this room are pirates, James," he said, voice low.

"I am not a pirate!" he snapped.

Jack began to count off his points. "Sailing under false colors--"

"A perfectly acceptable--"

"Spying--"

" _Your_ lot can't keep their mouths closed--"

"Disguising yourself as one of the Brethren--"

"Hardly a crime, I should think."

"Depends on who you're asking, mate." Jack frowned. "Where was I?"

"Wasting your breath and my time," said James. "As usual."

Jack tsked disapprovingly. "You've got the manners of a pirate, sure enough." Norrington made a sound then like a tiger Jack had seen in India, all rumble and wariness. "It's lucky for you that I've convinced myself," added Jack hastily. "I only negotiate with pirates."

Norrington's voice was tight. "Your price?"

"Depends on what you're asking for," said Jack. "A lie'll cost you."

"Your silence."

"That will cost you more."

James' eyes never left Jack's as his hand slid into his coat, removing a small purse and tossing it at Jack. Jack caught it, closing his hand around the heavy weight of coin. Tempting.

He threw it back at James.

Not hardly tempting enough.

"I was thinking a favor," said Jack. "Seeing as how I'm doing one for you."

"A favor," said James.

Jack nodded. 

"And what would this favor entail?"

"Whatever I want," said Jack simply. "When I ask for it."

"Absolutely not."

"It's a big thing you're asking, James. Your life. Your ship. Your men."

"Your _silence_ ," said James angrily. "Admittedly, I doubt your capability, but I am hardly asking for all the known treasure of the world."

"Value your word that highly, do you?" said Jack thoughtfully. "More than your life."

"I will not make a promise to you I cannot keep," said James. "And yes. I value that more than I value my life."

"And the lives of your men?"

James frowned. All men had their weaknesses, Jack knew, and responsibility was Norrington's. "You are asking for far too much," he said.

"That's why this is a negotiation, eh?" Jack spread out his hands and smirked. "Make your best offer."

James looked at him silently for a long moment before he turned and locked the door.


End file.
